Bravery
by She's a Star
Summary: While Harry says goodbye to Lupin at the end of Prisoner of Azkaban, Ron and Hermione have a much-needed bonding session.


**Bravery**

_By She's a Star_

**Disclaimer: **It's all JKR's.

**Author's Note:**

1. I really like lists as of late.

2. Kloves is a deeply evil man for giving what very well may be Ron's best line ever to Hermione. What's up with _that_??

3. Out of bitterness, I may or may not have felt compelled to write an entire fic centered around that line and Ron's saying it in rebellion.

5. I forgot 4. Hehehe. Sleep deprived, maybe?

4. Well, this is just getting interesting.

6. I really love Ron and Hermione.

7. Though I'm not sure if I can still write either of them.

8. I know I can't write Hagrid.

9. My X-Files DVDs are calling to me.

10. I am newly an X-Files geek.

11. The truth is out there.

12. The truth, of course, being 'who cares about aliens? Mulder and Scully, won't you just bloody snog already?'

13. I'm probably scaring you right now.

14. In all honesty, I'm even kinda scaring myself.

15. Vanilla Coke does odd things to me.

16. Bye.

17. No, seriously.

18. Siriusly.

19. Ba'dumm'chh!

20. (Go read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of A Cabana by Silver Phoenix25 if you haven't. Just because it's possibly more insane than I am at the moment.)

21. I am such a troubled soul.

22. Honestly but not seriously. Bye.

23. Oh, dear Lord.

_            "He's _packing_?" said Harry, alarmed. "Why?"_

_            "Leavin', isn' he?" said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to ask. "Resigned firs' thing this mornin'. Says he can't risk it happenin' again."_

_            Harry scrambled to his feet._

_            "I'm going to see him," he said to Ron and Hermione._

_            "But if he's resigned—"_

_            "—doesn't sound like there's anything we can do—"_

            "I don't care. I still want to see him. I'll meet you back here."

            And with that, Harry turned and set off for the castle.

            Hermione stared after him, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Of course, she supposed that she should have gotten used to it by now, considering what a nightmare this year had been.

            She hadn't.

            "Ah," Hagrid said, staring after him as well. "He's 'is father's son, I'll give 'im that. I s'pose I should get back to me hut, then. Fang's been restless."

            "See you later, Hagrid," Ron said.

            "Yes, bye," Hermione added.

            "You two'd best get along now, y'hear?" Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling. "Yeh've done enough arguing for the year."

            "Don't worry," Ron said. "We'll be just fine. Unless Hermione brings up exams," he added, casting a glance at her.

            "Oh, shut up," she replied shortly.

            Ron snickered, and Hagrid laughed to himself as he turned and headed back toward his house.

            Hermione watched him for a moment before turning and glancing up at the castle. Harry had just reached the doors, and she felt a pang of sadness as he disappeared inside. Lupin had been a true friend to Harry – to all of them – and he was one of the only links to Harry's parents. _And at the moment the only one who hasn't fled the country on a hippogriff,_ she added wryly.

            It really was a shame that he had to go.

            "Reckon we'll ever get a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who's actually thick enough to stick around?" Ron asked after a moment, as though reading her mind.

            "Probably not," Hermione responded, still staring at the doors. "But you know—"

            "If the next words out of your mouth are 'Lockhart wasn't that bad, really,' I'm going to be forced to hex you," Ron warned.

            Hermione rolled her eyes. "But you _know_, Professor Lupin really did teach us a lot in the time that he was here."

            "No kidding," Ron replied, stretching his arms over his head for a moment before sinking down onto the grass. "I think I may have actually learned something this year."

            "Oh, come on, Ron," she said, taking off her sweatshirt and setting it on the patch of grass next to him before sitting down herself. "We learned things from Quirrell and Lockhart, too."

            "Oh, right," Ron said. "Never share your head with a dark lord and whatever you do, beware of the Cornish pixies. How could I forget?"

            Hermione felt tempted to laugh, but couldn't quite bring herself to. This was, after all, a quintessential 'scold Ron' sort of moment. And yet at the same time, she figured they had done quite enough arguing over the course of the year, and it _was_ nearly summer holidays.

            Feeling strangely rebellious, she smiled at him. He looked a bit puzzled for a split second before grinning back at her. His smile was slightly crooked, and for some reason she found herself on the verge of blushing.

            _Don't be an idiot. This is _Ron_._

            "So," she said, looking out at the lake and hugging her knees to her chest.

            "So," he echoed.

            She looked over at him, feeling oddly at a loss for words.

            _It's probably just because we went so long without speaking to each other,_ she reasoned. _It's perfectly understandable to feel like I don't know what to say to him._

            And yet some nagging, slightly unnerving voice in the back of her mind seemed intent upon telling her that that wasn't why she was having trouble even forming a sentence.

            _Oh, go away,_ she thought irritably.

            "How's your leg, then?" she finally asked, staring absently at it. There was a hole in the knee of his jeans.

            Ron shrugged. "Just aches a bit when I move. Not too bad, really."

            Hermione looked up at him, and suddenly felt as though she might cry. This boy – this ridiculous, snarky boy . . . On one level, it was hard to believe that he'd stood up last night, pale as a ghost and in incredible pain, and told a convict he'd heard horror stories about his entire life that to kill Harry, he'd have to kill them too. He seemed so . . . ordinary. He was _Ron_. And yet . . . it was something so perfectly him.

            "Hermione," Ron said, snapping her out of her reverie. He sounded nervous. "Are you crying?"

            She blinked to find her eyes were, in fact, full of tears.

            _Oh, marvelous, Hermione_.

            "No," she sniffled. "Just . . . allergies, you know."

            "You don't have any allergies," Ron argued.

            "How would you know?" she demanded, her voice a lot sharper than she'd intended it to be. She felt a tear slide down her cheek. Goodness. This was just wonderful. Now he was going to mock her forever, or get all frightened, or—

            "'Cause," he said, looking a bit sheepish, "You're my best friend. I've got to know that stuff, don't I?"

            Oh, drat. Now he'd done it.

            "Oh, Ron," she choked, and resisted the urge to fling her arms around him. He immediately looked alarmed.

            "Hermione, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

            "No," she cut in, embarrassed, and stared down at the grass. "It's just—" she sniffled, "—you're so _good_, d'you know that?"

            "Huh?" he asked blankly.

            _Oh, now you've done it. He thinks you're mental._

_            . . . or more so than usual, at least._

            She took one last sniff and then attempted to compose herself, wiping at her face before looking up at him.

            "Last night," she said, and swallowed. She certainly wasn't going to let herself cry again. "In the Shrieking Shack. When . . . you stood up, and told Sirius that he'd have to kill all three of us . . ."

            Ron stared at her for a moment before looking to the ground. "That was stupid," he muttered, picking a piece of grass and absently fiddling with it. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

            "What?" she asked, bewildered. "Ron, it was . . ."

            "Stupid," Ron repeated, staring firmly at the piece of grass. "If he'd really been evil . . . if he'd listened to me . . ." his voice lowered to a whisper, "I could've got you killed."

            Watching him, she felt as though someone had attempted a tap dance across her heart. He looked so utterly dejected, sitting there and staring at that stupid piece of grass.

            "Oh, Ron," she said again. "Don't be ridiculous. It was so brave, and loyal, and . . ."

            She bit her lip, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about what she was going to do. _Oh, don't. It's just Ron._

            Taking a deep breath, she reached over and took his hand in hers. He looked up at her, the surprise all too apparent in his eyes. She forced herself to ignore it.

            "You're a hero," she told him firmly, staring into his eyes.

            He looked back for a moment, then started laughing.

            _Oh, God._

            She pulled her hand away at once and glanced out at the lake, horrified with herself. Why had she said such a thing? Could she have been more ridiculous and cliché?

            _Fabulous, really fabulous.__ Now he's going to think you've got some sort of crush on him._

            "I'm glad you find it so funny," she said stiffly, her eyes fixed on the giant squid.

            He immediately stopped laughing. "It's not that."

            "I'm not an emotional wreck all the time, you know," she continued, watching a tentacle drift upward and then back down into the water. "It's just that this year's been very hard, with all the classes and the Timeturner and all, not to mention that last night we all nearly—"

            "Hermione, it's not that, all right?" Ron cut in, sounding frustrated. "It's just . . . Harry's the hero. You're smart – you're s'posed to know these things . . . Pretty bloody obvious, if you ask me," he added darkly.

            "Ron, don't be stupid," Hermione instructed. She paused for a moment before adding, "I'm not sure I would have been brave enough to say it."

            Ron shrugged. "Dumb enough, more like." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and he held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "All right, all right! Brave, then. Whatever you say."

            Hermione nodded, and couldn't help but shudder as she thought back to it. She'd been so sure that something awful was going to happen . . . that Harry was going to kill Black; that he'd do something rash; that maybe they'd all wind up dead . . .

            "I was so scared," she confessed weakly.

            He nodded, looking unusually solemn. "Me too."

            Their eyes locked, and she simply looked at him for a moment – _really_ looked, in a way she hadn't quite done before. There was a spark of slyness, of course, and beyond that a seriousness that she'd never really seen in him before. It was strange; part of her felt almost as though she was seeing him for the first time. In a new light.

            "Listen, Hermione," Ron said after a moment, almost hesitantly. "I'm sorry about everything. Scabbers, and Crookshanks, and all. It was a stupid thing to fight about."

            "Yes," she agreed, and offered a small smile. "It really was, wasn't it?"

            "I mean," Ron continued innocently, "it's not the cat's fault that he looks as though he's just run into a brick wall." He paused for a moment, feigning thoughtfulness. "Unless, of course, he has—"

            "He does _not_ look like he's run into a wall," Hermione protested. "Just because he's a bit _interesting_—"

            "He's ugly, Hermione," Ron said gravely. "Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you're just going to have to accept it."

            "_You're_ closed minded," Hermione argued. "Just because he's not a stereotypically beautiful cat doesn't mean—"

            "Hermione, listen to the facts. It'd be one thing if he were 'interesting,' but he's like some sort of mutant! He's grotesque—"

            "Talking about everyone's favourite furry faculty member, I expect?" came Draco Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them.

            Hermione and Ron exchanged a dark look before turning to face him.

            "Oh, look," Hermione said, unable to resist. "Malfoy's finally mastered alliteration."

            Ron snickered.

            "Oh, I see how it is, Weasley. Now you've got to get your Mudblood pal to fight your battles for you—"

            "Call her that and I'll give you a real battle, Malfoy," Ron said, glaring as he reached for his wand.

            "I'm scared," Malfoy deadpanned. "Though probably not as scared as you were last night. What was that business about, anyway? I heard you ran crying up to the castle from the big bad werewolf, Weasley. Is that true, then? What a sorry Gryffindor you are—"

            "Oh, sod off, Malfoy," Hermione cut in, impatient.

            Ron looked over at her, surprised, and Malfoy stared for a moment before his signature sneer reappeared.

            "Or you'll do what, Granger?"

            Hermione gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. "Are you sure you don't know?"

            She nonchalantly raised her right hand a few inches from the ground, and Malfoy jumped backward. Ron sniggered from next to her, and she couldn't help but feel rather accomplished as she said, "You're a bit jumpy, Malfoy. What is it? Frightened of the werewolves?"

            Malfoy fixed them both with a glare that seemed nothing short of ridiculous before declaring "You're both trash" and storming off.

            "Y'know, Hermione," Ron said, sounding rather awed, "I reckon he's scared of you."

            She couldn't help but feel a bit pleased with herself. "You think so?"

            Ron nodded earnestly. "It's brilliant."

            He grinned at her, looking oddly proud, and she suddenly felt very peculiar. It was just . . . he had very nice eyes, and she wondered why she'd never noticed it before. And there was something adorable about the freckles scattered lightly across his face, and his hair was slightly tousled – she supposed he hadn't bothered to comb it that morning – and . . .

            Oh dear.

            "Oh, I wish I'd done better on my Defense Against the Dark Arts exam," she said, the words flying out of her mouth before she quite knew what she was saying. All she knew was that she had to get her mind off of the particular path it was currently straying down unless she wanted to go absolutely mental.

            "Her_mi_one," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes at her, "You passed everything but the boggart."

            "But imagine how much that could affect my grade . . . you don't think that Lupin will fail me, do you?" she added anxiously, glancing at him.

            Ron scowled, looking deeply disgusted. "It's _summer_. Don't talk about grades. It's wrong, that's what it is."

            "_Really,_ Ron, you have to accept that marks _are_ just a bit _important_—"

            "Maybe to people who haven't got anything else to worry about."

            "Like what? How the Chudley Cannons will place in the Quidditch World Cup, or the like? _Very_ important, Ron."

            "More important than going mental trying to take about fifty classes at once," Ron retorted, annoyed.

            "You're insufferable," Hermione informed him coolly, turning and picking up Hogwarts, A History from the ground next to her.

            "Right," Ron muttered. "_I'm_ insufferable. 'S all my fault, of course."

            Fixing her eyes on the heading of chapter thirty-two ('The Mysterious Circumstances Surrounding Godric Gryffindor's Untimely Demise – Foul Play or Food Poisoning?') she couldn't help but feel greatly relieved. A bickering match with Ron, she figured, had been very much in order right about then. If it hadn't happened, she still might have been plagued with thoughts of how brave he was, and how sweet, and the fact that maybe she cared for him a bit . . . _differently_ than she did for Harry.

            _Yes,_ she decided, listening to Ron warble a Weird Sisters tune in an obvious attempt to annoy her, _bickering was sometimes certainly in order._


End file.
